


3 Times That Ian Nearly Asked and That 1 Time Mickey Helps

by ghettoassenglishman



Series: Take my hand--Take My Whole life too [72]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Fluff, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Marriage Proposal, Tumblr Ask Box Fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-27
Updated: 2015-08-27
Packaged: 2018-04-17 11:10:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4664385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ghettoassenglishman/pseuds/ghettoassenglishman
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Anon Asked : Prompt: Mickey finds an engagement ring in Ian's things. Cue hilarious Mickey being on edge waiting for Ian to propose and then being angry because it's not happening fast enough</p>
            </blockquote>





	3 Times That Ian Nearly Asked and That 1 Time Mickey Helps

**Author's Note:**

> I LOVED THIS PROMPT OKAY! I love Mickey being all excited and agitated about Ian asking him to marry him - just the dreams I have in my head. I hope this is good for you, I tried my best:)
> 
> For those who wanted to know if I'm still taking prompts - Yes I am. - im-an-angel-y0u-ass.tumblr.com
> 
> ERRORS WILL BE FIXED TOMORROW MORNING -

Shock. That's the first feeling Mickey's body felt when his hands touched the small, black velvet box that had been carefully stuffed at the back of the drawer. It was stupid. This was ridiculous. Ian had probably stuffed a bag of cocaine in the box, or stole some cheap earrings to give Fiona for her birthday next week; if anything, it definitely _wasn't_ a ring. Anything but a ring. Mickey couldn't be too sure, though. They had been together for a long while now; getting on track, getting Ian back on his feet, forming a small family unit with Svetlana and Yev. It wouldn't be _too_ shocking to find out that Ian had bought a ring, would it? 

Mickey's finding it hard to breathe. He looks like a total nut standing there, in the middle of their bedroom, in the dark holding a fucking black box that might even be empty. It was early –  _too_ early- and Mickey's pretty sure that he's just imagining this. Ian had never spoke of marriage nor had he even suggested that they sign a couple of papers that made them legally bonded. It wasn't a subject that was required to talk about; the idea of marriage had been ruined those years ago. 

In all bravery, he opens the box. His breath clogs in his throat, as if he had swallowed a screw and it was slowly cutting holes into his flesh. It was a ring. A  _fucking_ ring. It had been carefully placed inside of the box like it was a delicate flower that needed to grow. Mickey's hand shake, he's not sure why but he has an idea, and he takes it out. It's black; the same shade of his hair. Mickey's sure that Ian probably bought it as a gift,  _not_ as a proposal. It was just a plain, black ring with nothing but a plain black box to go with it. It was definitely a gift.

Mickey nearly drops it, his hold falling weak and the ring scrambling in the air. Something caught his eye, and he's sure it isn't his imagination this time. There are letters carved into the metal; small but recognisable. Mickey squints to read it, but when he does he suddenly loses all sense of control and his heart starts beating like a bass drum. He might have a heart attack, he's not sure, but he feels his chest about to explode.

Inside the metal, curved around the circular frame, laid the words –  _You Make Me Free._ Mickey's sure that he had said that once to Ian, or something along those lines, and he doesn't know how to react yet. It's a ring. A fucking  _ring._ The sort of thing married couples kiss at night, the sort that friends and family moon over because of how big and beautiful it was. It was a ring. A ring that Ian had bought, for  _Mickey,_ for him. 

“Shit.” Mickey mutters. Ian wanted to marry him. _Him._ Mickey Milkovich, of all people. Mickey's scared, he's happy, he's angry, he's got so many emotions he nearly bolts like lightning. There's something inside him, deep to the core, that wanted this. That wanted Ian to walk in and find him with the dumb ring and get down on his stupid knee and ask those words. There was something inside of him that wanted it _so_ bad that he places it back in the box, back in the drawer, because he wanted Ian to ask that question himself. 

 

Strike one :  _He's just shy_

Three days after finding the mysterious ring, Mickey couldn't get marriage out of his head. He wishes that he never found that fucking thing – wait, no. That's not right. He wishes that Ian would just run in and ask him before his whole brain exploded. It wasn't irritating; Mickey was just curious of how Ian was still remaining cool, despite the fact he was thinking of asking Mickey to marry him.

Mickey's sprawled across the couch, bottle of beer in his hand. All day he had been watching crappy television, that somehow knew what battle his mind was going through. Three fucking times he had to watch _Don't Tell The Bride_ and to be honest, he was getting pretty fucking sick of it.

Ian's shuffling around in the kitchen, clanging pots together, humming to himself as he tried to make the best pasta and sauce he could. Funny enough, Mickey found himself listening out for everything that Ian was doing; calculating whether or not he was about to ask, or he was about to reveal the ring that he had already seen days before.

Mickey hears a hiss from the kitchen, he looks over the top of the couch his eyes landing at the toned, smooth back of Ian. Ian licks his finger, “Mick?” He calls out, still not turning from the stove and the red hot pan than spat at him.

This was it. Ian was going to do it, in their fucking _kitchen._ Mickey bites at his lip, trying to shuffle himself comfortable for what was about to happen. _Ian was going to ask him._ It wasn't what he expected from Ian; hearts and flowers were more his thing, but Mickey was starting to appreciate that Ian realised that he didn't need to go all out to impress him.

Mickey downs his beer, trying to remain cool. “What do you want, Gallagher?”

Ian's a little adamant to answer, his stutter a little hesitant. Mickey smiles to himself because he knows Ian's bricking it; he knows that Ian had probably rehearsed a huge spiel but was thriving in nerves. Ian turns off the stove and walks over to the back of his couch, his hands landing on Mickey's shoulders where he started to massage gently into the skin.

Letting out a breath, that made Mickey smile harder, Ian stops his hands. “I need to ask you something.”

 _This was it. Ian was going to ask him to fucking marry him._ Mickey was a little unsure, and a little struck back, at how and why he was starting to get excited about this. Tilting his head up, looking over to Ian who looked a little nervous that normal, he smiles, “What is it?”

Ian rounds the couch, placing himself beside Mickey at the edge. He's fiddling with his hands, mouth opening and closing as he tried to form his words correctly. Mickey doesn't know how to react, or breathe for that matter, he had waited three days for something to happen and it was going to happen _right then._ How does one react to a proposal? He should of googled that shit.

Mickey squeezes Ian's knee with his right hand, “Come on, man, spit it out.”

Giving a weak smile, Ian runs a hand through his hair. “I mean...I really needed to ask you this,” He starts, his voice a little nervous and it's beginning to brush off on Mickey. “I know what you'll probably say, but I thought I'd ask anyway,”

Mickey's starting to get agitated, Ian was taking _far_ too long just to ask him a simple question. He nudges Ian's ankle with his own, his face starting to hurt from the shy smile that fell at his lips. He didn't want to pressure Ian into asking him – but he _so_ fucking did at the same time. “What?”

Ian laughs lightly, avoiding eye contact at all costs. “Don't get mad.”

Rolling his eyes, Mickey slaps Ian's knee. “I'm not going to get fucking mad.” How could he get mad about this? About Ian asking him to spend the rest of his life with him. Unless, well, was that a typical reaction for a proposal? Mickey was clueless.

“Okay,” Ian breathes, letting out a short chuckle. He places his hand over Mickey's, as if he's silently calculating his next words in his mind. Mickey takes a deep breath, awaiting the question that had been on his mind for days, his heart beating _way_ too fast but a little too slow.

This was it.

Ian was going to ask him those words. Ian was going to get on his knee and-

“Can you look after Liam this weekend?” Ian finally asks, his words slicing a hole into Mickey's thoughts, sending him into immediate shock. Mickey's mouth drops wide open, his eyes tingling as he refuses to blink. _How could he be so stupid? Of course Ian was going to ask him that._

The excitement washes away from his body, his back slumping against the chair. “Wait, _what?”_ he accidentally blurts out. Ian didn't ask him, not even close to it. He's hoping that the question was just a hint towards _will you marry me_ and Ian was just to chicken shit to ask – but his eyes are so genuine and pleading, and Mickey knows he's being truthful.Mickey felt himself rival up in unwanted anger and frustration; the fact that they got so close, but the words didn't come out, made him want it even _more._

Ian scrubs a hand through his hair, “I know it's short notice but I have therapy and no one else can do it.” He sighs, looking over to Mickey guiltily. “I'd ask Lip but he's just an asshole and won't leave that shitty college of his -”

Mickey's getting tired now, he doesn't want to hear anything else. He kicks Ian's ankle again, squeezing his knee a little reassuringly, trying to hide his disappointment behind a limp smile. _They still had time._ “Shut up, man. I'll watch the fucking kid, aright?”

The younger man's face breaks into an uncontrollable grin, he leans forward and gently kisses Mickey. In an instant, Mickey falls into his, despite the fact that his mind was still running through the possibilities of why Ian hadn't just asked. They break apart, Ian's hand is resting at the side of his face, thumb stroking against his cheekbone. “I love you, you know.” Ian whispers.

Mickey nods, “I know.” He plants a kiss against Ian's soft lips, and for a moment he finds himself looking over at their open bedroom door where he _knows_ the ring is hiding. Ian's looking at him as if he's crazy, his eyebrows furrowed, his head turning as he tried to catch the direction of Mickey's gaze.

“What is it, Mick?” Ian asks, scooting a little closer.

Shaking his head, Mickey lets out a breath. “Nothing. Don't worry about it, Gallagher.” He combs a hand through Ian's hair, trying to calm down before he actually confession to finding the thing. Ian kisses his cheek before stepping up, wiping his hands against his sides before turning back to the kitchen.

Mickey stares into the blank space where Ian was sat just seconds before, his mind sidetracking back to the thought of Ian asking him to marry him. The ring – it couldn't hide that much longer. If Ian was feeling even a little as much as Mickey, he would be itching to the pull it out and just ask. Mickey's not annoyed, of course he's not. Ian just needed time.

 

Strike 2 : _Now, this is just getting annoying_

Two weeks. _Two_ fucking weeks and Ian still hadn't popped the question yet. Mickey wasn't entirely sure how long that ring had even been there for, but he was sure enough irritated with the fact that he now _knew_ it lingered at the back of the drawer, gathering dust whilst Ian took his time to do it.

Mickey kept telling himself that this was crazy; the ring probably wasn't an engagement ring. It was probably just some antique that Ian had found but decided to never wear. Ian had probably planned a date, something special, but it hadn't been fully arranged yet. This, of course, didn't stop Mickey waiting and pleading to the lord that Ian would ask him soon. He felt like some school girl – crying over their crush and scribbling their name into a little notebook, with little hearts surrounding a crappy drawing. Marriage didn't appeal to him, not in the slightest, but getting _married_ to _Ian_ was something he would look forward to.

Mickey had found himself lounging in their bed, pitying himself, for days now. Ian would come and go, making him food, fucking him occasionally, and going back out to work, but Mickey still hadn't heard the words he had been waiting for. This night, however, Ian seemed a little off and Mickey hoped it was because of nerves and he was finally bucking up the courage to ask him.

They had moved a television into their room, the noise louder than usual this night. Mickey laid against the sheets, drinking the last drops of his beer, with a sandwich half eaten on a plate against his lap. He tried hard – very _hard –_ to keep his mind off the whole _Ian proposing_ thing, but it was hard to concentrate when the drawer hiding the ring was staring him blank in the face.

The door suddenly swung open and Ian barrelled in; bare chested, hair wet and slightly curly, his skin still red from his recent shower. Mickey flickered his eyes over, just once, and suddenly found himself trapped in the sight of his hot boyfriend walking through. _Fuck Ian and his stupid hot body._ He watches as Ian walks around slowly, picking out some sweats and taking a little longer to pull something out the drawer. Wait – it was _the_ drawer. Shit.

Mickey tries to remain cool, his eyes widening as Ian pulls something out. “Man, hurry the fuck up. I want to watch this, you know.” Mickey pretends to try and catch the last few minutes of the show he had been watching – but not really watching – but he's really trying to work out what the hell Ian was clutching behind his back so tightly.

Ian ignores Mickey's comment, crawling up the mattress with his hand still hidden behind his back. He smirks, moving between Mickey's legs as his eyes trailed effortlessly over Mickey's bare, gleaming chest. Mickey rolls his eyes; despite his heart pounding like a wild drum, he still managed to keep his cool. “What the fuck you doing?” He asks, hiding his nervous frame.

Winking, Ian licks at the corner of his lip, his body hovering over Mickey's. “I have something for you.” He beckons, hand fidgeting behind his back.

Mickey tries to glance towards it but Ian raises his shoulder, blocking the view. In a sigh, Mickey's acting out his rehearsed reaction; seriously, hours of preparation went into his reaction. He had to act like he hadn't seen the darn ring two weeks prior, Ian _couldn't_ know. “I'm hoping you're talking about your dick right now, man. If it's not nine inches I want no part of it.”

Ian chuckles, planting a gentle kiss at Mickey's shoulder. “I bought it for you. At least show me a little gratitude for my efforts.”

Shit. Ian _bought_ it. What else would he buy for him? It wouldn't be food and it definitely wouldn't be alcohol; mainly for the fact that he had already brought him some of that. This was it. Ian was actually going to propose. Right there, in their bed, when they were alone. Mickey shyly smiles, trying to hide his heaving chest. “Depends what it is.”

“ _Well,”_ Ian almost sings, pulling out a box from behind his back. A black, velvet fucking box. Mickey loses his breath before Ian speaks again, pushing the box into Mickey's chest. “Open it.”

Mickey can't breathe. This is the moment, this was what had waited two god-damn weeks for. Ian looked so flushed, so tired, so _perfect,_ and Mickey felt himself dying a little at how great this was. He takes the box slowly, narrowing his eyes at the other man who's smile was brighter than the sun. “What the hell are you up to?” He asks, laughing a little as he fingers shook against the box.

Shying away, Ian leans his head against Mickey's raised knee. “Nothing. Hurry up I need a piss.”

_Oh, how romantic._ Mickey thinks. It was them of course, their wedding proposal wouldn't be romantic even if they tried. He bites his lip before slowly opening the box. He's rehearsed this many times over the past two weeks; acting out how surprised he would be, repeating his shocked face over and over, and this was  _it._ It was finally happening. 

Maybe it wasn't.

Mickey's looking down at the box, expecting the black ring that he had found previous. Instead he sees a small plastic bag, filled with white powder that he knew very well due to past experience of it. His heart pumps faster; this time with irritation and frustration. The proposal had been side-tracked once again; Ian  _still_ hadn't asked him. “Oh.” Mickey blurts, unexpectedly. 

Ian's face scrunches in confusion, “ _Oh?”_ He repeats Mickey's words, a little hurt.

In that moment, Mickey had forgotten that Ian didn't know that he had found the ring before. He suddenly slams his mouth shut, before opening it up to form some sort of explanation for his weird reaction. “I mean,  _ohhh..._ you bought me this.” His shocked face was terrible; this was never going to fucking work. 

“Yeah,” Ian laughs, a dazed look still on his face. “You don't like it?” He asks, eyes tracing Mickey's over and over trying to work out what he was thinking.

Mickey feels like an idiot; he shouldn't know about the ring anyway. He shouldn't feel hurt nor disappointed in Ian's  _not proposal._ Shaking himself, Mickey closes the box shut and brings a grin to his face. “Shut up, you idiot. Of course I fucking like it.” He places his hand at the back of Ian's neck, pulling him close for a kiss. 

Ian sighs with relief, pushing himself up a little to get a better angle. They kiss for a while before Ian slides next to Mickey, his arm wrapped lazily around Mickey's waist. Mickey doesn't feel himself frowning; he blames it on his stupid thoughts that tell him that Ian didn't  _really_ want to marry him and that's why he was delaying it so much; but Ian must feel it because he's turning on his side, looking over at Mickey. 

“What is it?” Ian asks, his voice quiet.

Mickey immediately feels the ting of guilty rushing up his spine; he tries to push it away but Ian's face keeps it there. He places the black box – that was both deadly but a gift – on the nightstand before turning on his side, mimicking Ian's body. “Nothing. Why would something be wrong?”

Ian physically tenses, “It wouldn't – it's just, you seem a little off.” He waves his hand around in the air a little, his face full of concern. He pushes his face into his pillow, groaning a loudly. “It's the gift isn't it? You don't want it, it was a stupid fucking id-”

Maybe Mickey  _was_ expecting a ring but it didn't differ how sweet Ian's gift was. He cradles the side of Ian's cheek with his hand, drawing him away from the pillow to look at him. “No, you dipshit. It's really fucking great. Stop beating yourself up about it, aright, I love it.” 

Sighing, Ian closes his eyes and leans into Mickey's palm. “Okay,” He smiles, his eyes fluttering open like a new born kitten. Biting his lip, he scoots closer to Mickey, and rests his head against his upper, bare chest. Mickey flicks off the television as Ian's fingers start to draw shapes against his skin. Ian looks up, briefly. “Something is up, I don't know what it is, but you're telling me in the morning.” He quickly leans over Mickey and turns the lamp off.

Mickey nods, feeling sudden fear run through him. He'd had to  _lie_ and just say he felt ill or that he was just really really tired. “Let's go to sleep,” Mickey blurts, kissing the top of Ian's rough, tussled hair. “I'm fucking beat.” 

Thankfully, Ian doesn't push further, he just nods and wraps himself around Mickey like a blanket. Mickey doesn't know how to sleep, trying to figure out what to say to Ian in the morning; hopefully Ian would forget about, or just click onto the reason why Mickey was  _really_ acted bummed out. 

 

Strike 3 –  _This is fucking ridiculous_

Ian was taking the piss now. Mickey had done his waiting; _one_ fucking month of waiting. He feels like Sirius Black at this point; waiting for something to happen, for Ian to just whip out the ring and ask him. At first, Mickey had been imagining where it might happen, if they were alone, whether it was night or day or even slightly romantic. Now, he didn't give a shit where they were, who they were with, he just wanted Ian to fucking _ask_ him already because this was taking the piss.

Mickey was being a dick; he could admit to that. Ian still had no clue that Mickey had found a month earlier, nor did he have a clue that Mickey was ripping his hair out about it. Then again, he still needed to take in account that Ian was literally shitting himself about asking him. Mickey would even admit that he wasn't exactly the easiest person to ask _that_ question to.

At this point, though, Mickey was being casual about the whole thing; other than in his mind. They were walking back from the Gallagher house, the cold breeze nipping at their skin as they rounded the block for the second time. Ian had been trailing behind, strangely quiet, but Mickey didn't think anything of it. Ian was tired, he could sense that, and he was too. All he wanted to do was climb into bed, cuddle up to Ian (which he wouldn't admit out loud) and drift off in his dreamless pit.

As they reached the corner, Mickey realised that Ian was _too_ far behind. He stops, pulling out a cigarette and lights it up. Pocketing his lighter, he bobs his knees to try and get some warmth through his body. “Come on, man. Stop walking like a fucking grandpa, I want to fucking sleep.” Ian doesn't answer and Mickey gets slightly irritated. “We haven't got till fucking Christmas-”

When he turns he's unsure how to react – no matter how many times he's thought about this moment. Ian's down on one knee in the middle of the path, reaching around in his left pocket. Mickey's feels the air run away from his lungs, his mouth going dry around his cigarette. Out of all of the scenarios, _this_ was not how he expected it. Ian was down on his knee, in the middle of the fucking street, at _one_ in the god-damn morning. Out of all places Ian had to choose this.

Mickey turns on his heel fully, facing Ian who was still searching around in his pockets. Mickey nearly loses his words, stepping closer to Ian. _This was it. This was fucking it._ “What – er, what are you doing, Gallagher?” He asks, trying to remain casual about the whole thing.

Ian suddenly looks up, almost hopeful, his hand standing still in his jacket pocket. His face breaks into a smile, both wild and wide, as he huffs out a chuckle. “I'm tying my shoes, what did you think I was doing?” He gestures to his boot, changing his footing as he started to tie the second.

Excitement suddenly turns to irritation – like usual. He feels himself grow heated among the cold but he tries to keep his cool; only for the fact that Ian didn't know that Mickey _knew_ he would propose – whenever that might be. He laughs loudly in embarrassment, running a hand through his hair as his cigarette fell limp at his lips. _Of course Ian would be tying his shoes. Of fucking course._ Despite the fact that Ian _still_ hadn't asked, Mickey was still a little hopeful for what Ian had been searching for in his jacket.

Ian finally finishes up his boot and goes back to rummaging in his pocket. Mickey's watching him carefully, waiting for the burst of proposal to hit him straight in the mouth; but Ian's taking his time, huffing and puffing and obviously aware of Mickey staring him down. Shyly, he looks up through his lashes, “What?”

Mickey jolts, trance broken. “Shit,” He mutters. “What the fuck are you looking for in there? _Narnia_?”

“No.” Ian snorts, stepping back up from the damp ground, his jeans slightly wet at the knees. Mickey's finally feeling a little bit of hope; Maybe Ian wasn't going to get on his knee, but maybe he had the ring in his pocket and the proposal was still _on._ Ian sighs, tiredly. “I'm, er, I'm trying to find my fucking lighter.”

Yet again, Mickey feels his heart falling to his stomach. Of fucking _course_ Ian wasn't going to ask him here; it was in the middle of the street, not exactly the destination that meant something or would even be slightly romantic. Mickey feels himself growing angry; not at Ian, but for the fact that he _knew_ Ian was going to ask him but it just wasn't happening quick enough.

 Strike 4 – _It's not really a strike, more of a revelation..._

That's it. Mickey's had enough. It had been a month and a half since he found that god-damn ring and it felt like Ian was taking an eternity to go ahead and propose. Mickey's body was rumbling with fury and frustration over the whole situation; marriage wasn't even something he had thought of till now. It had been a breath in the wind, a tear in torrential rain. It wasn't anything they had spoke about nor suggested but a month and a half later it was _all_ he could think about.

Ian was _still_ acting like he hadn't bought a ring and stuffed it in the drawer; he acted even more casual then Mickey was, despite the added pressure of going over to Mickey and asking. To be honest, Mickey didn't feel it would be that hard to ask; it was just a simple question that many people ask their lovers. Wasn't it easy? It must be, right? Mickey didn't have a clue about that shit, it had never been his era. What he did understand was _frustration._ Lots of it.

The tea pot lid had been blown off, he couldn't take the waiting anymore. Mickey storms through the bedroom, glancing over to Ian who had gone to bed not long before. The redhead was sprawled on his front, head lolled to the side as a small whistle escaped his lips. Mickey sighed, a little guilty that he might be ruining Ian's idea of a perfect proposal, but he couldn't wait much longer; his mind would literally fuck off and leave him stranded. He walks over to the dresser and pulls open the drawer. He rummages through the endless pairs of underwear and finally finds the sharp edge of his black, velvet box.

As if he found it for the first time, Mickey gasped as the palmed the box in his palm. He could do this. He could confront Ian and pressure the proposal even if he felt a little ashamed that he was planning on pressuring Ian to ask. He steps over to the bed, biting his lip as he hesitated to take any action further. Shaking himself, Mickey remains a tight grip around the box. “Ian.” He calls out.

The redhead only shifts, muzzling his face further into the pillow. Mickey sighs, clicking his tongue as he tried to calculate what to do next. _Just do it,_ Mickey tells himself, encouraging his body to lurch forward and wake the other man up. He shakes Ian's shoulder. “Ian, wake the fuck up.” 

Ian groans a little, sniffling up before he whines into the pillow. “ _ Mickey...”  _ Just as Mickey's hand gets more persistent, poking him in the back, Ian turns his head to the other side, attempting to shuffle his body away from Mickey. “ _ Fuck off.”  _ his words are muffled in the fabric of the pillow. 

Mickey feels himself growing impatient - a feeling that didn't come strange to him over the last month and a half. Gritting his teeth, Mickey jumps on the bed, flipping Ian over with some powerful force. The redhead goes with it, turning over as his lips smacked together in his sleepy state. Mickey can't resist, he climbs over the bed, straddling Ian's hips. “ _ Gallagher,”  _ he demands. 

Slowly, Ian's eyes flutter open, his expression dazed. “Wha- what are you doing?” 

Biting his lip, unprepared for this moment, Mickey demands in a rough tone. “Ask me.” 

Ian freezes, sitting up a little, as his hands hovering at Mickey's thighs. His expression is shadowed with confusion, his mouth parted as he tried to work out what the  _ hell  _ Mickey was telling him to do. His mouth opens and closes, trying to form words, before he utters desperately, “Wha – ask you what?” 

This is the point where Mickey's plan ended. He hadn't thought this fair, or rehearsed this far. Instead, he unclenches the black box in his palm, pushing it into Ian's bare chest. He sighs, a little scared that Ian might just shove him off and run. “I  _ said  _ ask me.” 

The redhead physically tenses, his hands falling at Mickey's thighs. Mickey's sure that Ian's heart is going to shoot out his chest it's beating that loud; he's scared that he might give Ian a heart attack at the abrupt confrontation. Ian's eyes grow wide, his mouth gone slack, his hands starting to shake a little. Mickey's hand is still around the box resting by Ian's chest; he doesn't know whether to let go or just keep it there, it wasn't like Ian  _ didn't  _ know he had found it. 

Ian's voice is tiny, the one shaky and slightly worried. “You know?” 

Mickey closes his eyes with guilt, “Yes, I know.” 

Just as expected, Ian's shoulders deflate, his eyes looking anywhere but Mickey's. “Oh,” Ian breathes, his breath filled with tiredness and still confusion. He looks up towards Mickey, taking the box into his own hands, fiddling around with it in his palm. “But, how did you – how -” 

Mickey cuts in, laughing a little, ashamed. “I've known for a month and a half. I found it in the back of the drawer, I literally shit my pants.” Which was the truth; the first look at that ring nearly made his feet fall beneath him; it was literally the most shocking finds he had experienced. 

Ian blinks his eyes shut, “Shit.” He runs his finger over the velvet casing, biting down hard against his bottom lip. “Why the hell didn't you say anything?” He asks, anger but hurt lining his words. 

Slapping his thighs, Mickey's huffs, “Because I didn't want to fuck up your  _ big  _ plan. I knew you wanted to ask me with flowers and all that shit; then you took fucking  _ ages  _ to even mention it. Why the fuck didn't  _ you  _ say something?” Mickey asks, raising his brow. “It's been driving me mad, man.”

Ian nods slowly, looking as if he wanted to run for the hills. Mickey feels partially guilty for that; he felt that if he hadn't said anything a year could go by and the ring could have been  _ still  _ hidden in the back of the drawer. Using his freehand, in habit, he runs his fingers back and forth against Mickey's thigh. “I guess, I was just scared.” 

Mickey's struck; Ian was  _ scared.  _ Shit. That makes more sense than the fact he had been planning some cheesy-ass restaurant. Immediately, Mickey feels guilt, his chest pumping ever so fast from the regret of pressuring and confronting Ian. He laughs, lighting the mood a little. “Scared of asking me or marrying me?” 

Ian swallows harshly, looking back down at the velvet box. “Scared you'd say no.” 

_ Seriously? Fucking seriously?  _ Mickey had been going crazy for the past few weeks, scared that Ian had regretted his thoughts of getting married, and the reason that Ian had delayed it for so long was because he had been scared Mickey might say  _ no.  _ “Seriously, man?” Mickey chuckles, running the back of his hand against Ian's cheek. “Have a little bit of hope. Just fucking ask me.” 

Raising his brow, Ian looks a little less torn. “So, you want this?” 

Mickey snorts, “Ask me  _ properly,  _ dickwad.” 

Ian hesitates, his eyes glassy. “Right, okay, calm down asshole.” He opens the box slowly, his own breath taken away by the idea of the proposal. He pulls out the ring, holding it in his palm for a while before finally looking over to Mickey. 

Out of all thoughts, ideas, and rehearsals, Mickey would have never guessed it would turn out like this; no, this was better. Ian seemed a little nervous, his lip slightly quivering, hands shaking around the small, black ring that Mickey had embedded in his memory. Mickey rests his hand at the back of Ian's neck, his body falling further into his lap. “Ian.” 

Ian looks towards him in response to his name, he breathes, nodding to himself. Taking the ring, he holds Mickey's fourth finger. “Mickey...” He draws out, licking his lips nervously. “Will you – will you fucking marry me before I go literally  _ insane?”  _

That was it. That was the moment Mickey had been waiting for. He's lost for words and over the past weeks it had been horrific; his mind had been in muddles, but now – it was a sign of relief, that Ian had finally done it. Pressure or not, Ian was smiling like usual; all shy, dimples, face slightly flushing. Mickey can't help but place his own grin, a laugh bubbling at his lips as he memorised Ian's voice saying those words. 

Ian clears his throat, drawing Mickey's attention. “Now would be the time to answer, Mick.” 

“ _ Fuck,”  _ Mickey finds himself giggling – fucking  _ giggling –  _ before calming down. For two and a half months, this is what he had been waiting for. “Fuck, yes. You dick, yes I'll fucking marry you.” 

Slowly, Ian pushes the ring up Mickey's finger, his smile lighting up the whole room. He brings up Mickey's finger to his lips, gently kissing at the skin wrapped up in the black metal. “You sure?” He asks, again, his eyes wondering along Mickey's expression that shone like a star. 

Mickey grins, humming to himself, before his gaze locks with Ian's. “Jesus Christ.” He pushes Ian back against the mattress, attaching his lips to Ian's, his hands roaming softly against his chest. 

That's an answer for sure. 


End file.
